Complex Elektra
by mrs.milfoy
Summary: Originally a one-shot called "Devil in the Details," now a three chaptered dose of deviance. A darker side of Draco emerges when he discovers delight lurking in life's daunting little details. But the fine print can be down right invisible...and doubly dangerous. A gift for a friend, and a warning of incest ahead. Find a playlist on my profile!
1. Devil in the Details

Devil in the Details

So many fucking details. Draco leaned his head on his raised fist. Bored to fucking tears. He stared sullenly at the goblin solicitor who droned on like a...like a drone. "So shall we begin to enumerate the estates in England, Wales and France, Mr. Malfoy?"

Draco straightened. Wiped a sliver of drool from the corner of his mouth. His leather chair creaked. "Let me guess: They're mine now?"

"Yes. As well the further Malfoy holdings," the solicitor explained slowly. "All that belonged to your father and is now yours." He unrolled yet another parchment. "Now. Shall we list the individual assessments for evaluation?"

"No!" Draco held up a hand, then rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Please. No more bloody assessments. Just...can I just ask a question."

The goblin spread its gnarled hands in a gesture that said 'please do.'

"I'm the sole heir to the Malfoy properties, am I not?"

"Yes, young master."

Draco cocked a brow. He rather liked being called 'master...' "And is there anything I need to...do with those properties?"

"_Do_, sir?"

"I mean...am I to sell anything or -"

The goblin bristled and interrupted quickly. "I advise highly against selling any holdings, Mr. Malfoy. These are...choice properties. Many of the vaulted belongings - and unvaulted belongings - are beyond any true calculable value. It would be highly unwise to -"

"So it's not like we need money?" Draco asked. He knew there had been reparations after the war. That the Malfoys had shelled out vast amounts of galleons to try and make their names worth shite again.

It hadn't really worked. And Lucius - the cowardly skiver - had decided to take the easy way out and murdered himself in the main study. It'd been a messy affair as the stupid plonker had managed to cock up death as well as he'd cocked up life. Slitting his own throat over the rubbish bin - while dreadfully romantic and almost polite in theory - had not exactly worked out. Instead, he'd flailed about quite a bit and made a terrible mess.

Narcissa had been understandably distraught as the draperies and rug had been quite beyond salvation.

And now, Draco was here. Sweltering in a tiny office back of Gringott's before a cutthroat old goblin who seemed to take every amount of pleasure in seeing a Malfoy suffer. No surprise, really...

"No, Mr. Malfoy. You hardly need money. Your father's - now _your_ - various investments shall serve yourself and any heirs well into your seniority, if you tend them properly."

Draco nodded. That was good news. He'd been worried he was going to have to tell his mother there would be no more shoes for the duration of her life. Not that she would suffer for the lack. She had at least a thousand pairs to last. But still. It was good to know they wouldn't starve in the time it took him to decipher his father's 'investments.' Though as for heirs... Well, Draco didn't hold out much hope in that department.

"So." Draco clapped his hands together. "Are we...done here?"

"Mr. Malfoy, there are several pages of holdings yet to be discussed in -"

"Can I just review the holdings on my own and owl you any questions?" He'd quite breached tolerance and stood, all body language pointing to 'finished.'

The goblin looked helpless. He shrugged and gathered the various parchments into a black dragonhide valise. "I - I suppose that's fine, young master." But his claws lingered over one aged document roll. "Oh! There is one matter that requires...sensitive attentions."

"What's that?" Draco took up the valise.

"The matter of your mother, sir."

Draco froze in drawing the flap closed on the briefcase. "My mother?"

"Yes, sir." The goblin slipped a dusty ribbon from the scroll. "Her dowry and upkeep now fall to your responsibility. Unless of course you should like to re-market her."

"Re-market?" Draco approached the desk. Snatched the scroll from the goblin. He scanned the page. "What the devil is this? It makes no sense?"

"Your mother's marriage contract, young master. Her bonding details." The goblin sighed, seeing more explanation was warranted. "Pureblood arrangements have changed little these last hundred years. Your mother was appropriated by the Malfoy clan at age...was it 19, I believe? Anyway, as your father's sole heir -"

"You're saying I've...inherited my own mother." That throbbing had emerged in his forehead again.

"Well." The goblin coughed. "More or less, sir."

"But..." Draco seemed to splutter. "She's - she's my mum! Not some...possession."

"According to the details of her contract, Master Malfoy...she _is _a possession." The goblin folded its hands in finality. "Now. If you wish to keep her yourself, that's of course fine. However you should know there is a Malfoy cousin by marriage who could be considered as a suitable governor. He's married, but Narcissa's contract does allow a concubine stipulation should the need arise so long as she's kept within a manner to which she is -"

"Concubine?!" Draco couldn't control the exclamation. He flourished the contract at the goblin. "You're talking about my mother, damn it all!" He stuffed the scroll into the valise with the others. "And I'm going home to her now." He hoped his angry shaking wasn't evident.

"Master Malfoy!" Draco paused at the door, turned back toward the goblin who looked a demon in the dim lamp over its desk. Its voice was gravel and sand. "The Malfoys and Blacks are very old wizarding families. Their wishes deserve respect. Even your mother would agree. She's hardly reached the end of her usefulness. And I shall warn you: given the opportunity, a witch of her age and...urges...will stray."

Draco's lip curled and bile rose into his throat. Usefulness. Urges. His _mother_. A _concubine_ to some fucking stranger. Disgusting!

But even as he flew in self-righteous indignation down the steps of Gringott's, he felt the contract burning through the valise against his thigh. He felt a little devil lurking in those details, its pitchfork poking at an ember in his brain...

He was distracted that evening over dinner. The witch noticed.

"Draco, darling. Is everything all right?"

"Of course, mother." He drank his wine. She'd picked a lovely, crisp chard to accompany their pasta dish. She truly had excellent taste...and breasts. He looked away from them guiltily. Usefulness, indeed...

"How was your visit with the goblin?" She offered him bread.

He took a chunk of the warm French loaf. "Abysmal, as expected."

"I'm sorry, love." She touched his hand on the table, curled her fingers over his and squeezed for a moment. Such very soft hands.

"Not your fault, mum." He sat back. Sighed as though burdened.

"Was there bad news?" Her eyes - milky blue in the candlelight - searched his.

"No. Not particularly." After a moment's hesitation, he reached into his jacket. Best to broach the subject now. He extracted the aged parchment and tossed it to the table. "Do you recognize that?"

She blinked at the scroll. Reached for it, but paused. Looked to him as if for permission to hold it. Draco nodded, nostrils flaring. There'd been a moment...a brief flash of striking thrill when she'd looked at him that way. He'd felt _power_. "Go on."

He watched her face as she unrolled it, being careful of the cracked edging. Her eyes widened. They were impossibly wide. Her mouth tightened at first, then began to open. Her lips - very pink this evening - parted and trembled just slightly. "This is..."

"Yes." He nodded.

"Why do you have this?" She asked quietly.

"I received it today. From Gemlock."

She shook her head, expression turning from concern to confusion. "But I thought you were meeting today to discuss -"

"My inheritance, yes." He plucked the contract from her fingers. Felt her watching him as he briefly scanned it. There was no need. He'd read it at least six times since that afternoon. "You are part of my inheritance, mother."

Her hands slipped from the table to her lap. Folded there neatly. She stared at her empty wine glass. "I don't understand."

"Yes, you do." And he suspected she did. He imagined she understood implicitly the implications in their exchange. He leaned forward, placed elbows on the table - a gesture he knew she despised. "I'm told I have options."

"Options?"

"As to what I can do with you. Should I wish to unburden myself of the responsibility."

"Draco!" For the first time in years, he saw true emotion crack her fortified face and it was terror. "I've tried to be a good mother to you! I've made so many sacrifices! If you only knew -"

He raised a pinky finger and she silenced. Another thrill ribboned up his spine. "I've no intentions of 're-marketing' you, mother." He smirked. "Or shipping you off to be concubine to the closest Malfoy cousin."

She paled and looked rather wan, clutched the edge of the table and wavered. "Concubine..." He let the image soak in, recognized the moment it settled with a thunk in her stomach. "I suppose I should...thank you." She whispered.

"You're most welcome." He watched the light flicker across her high cheekbones. "It's a rather provocative feeling, you know."

She glanced up at last. "What's that?"

"Owning someone." Shadows revealed her emotions: sorrow and resentment. "Father did own you, didn't he? I mean...more or less." And resignation.

"Yes." She stared at her plate. "Most marriage contracts among pureblood families contain such language." Her eyes fired up to his, suddenly steely. "But he never treated me like chattel. He wouldn't have dared."

"I didn't imply such a thing." Draco sat back again. Relaxed in his chair. "Seemed quite the opposite, really. As if he spoiled you."

"He did." Her chin raised. "For the most part. He had every reason to be proud of what he had. Me. His family. I gave him you."

Draco let his eyes wander slowly over her form. Let her feel the gaze. "Surely you pleased him in other ways?"

She studied him quietly for a moment, gauging his meaning. "What..."

"Oh, come mother. You're a worldly witch. Were you a dutiful wife? Or should I say slave? Did you tend your owner...properly?"

Her face burned. The flush spreading across her face and chest was promising. "Don't be cruel, Draco. You've never spoken to me like this. I don't know what's come over you."

"I'm rather liberated, mum." He stretched his arms above his head, groaned with the pleasure of his muscles tensing. "All those years spent in father's shadow or under your wing. Suddenly - " He spread his arms and gestured to their surroundings " - this is all mine."

She jumped slightly when he pushed away from the table and stood. He circled her. Knelt at her side. "All those years spent protecting me. Controlling me." Delicately, his fingers brushed her jaw. Her flinch was inspiring. "Now your work is done, it would seem. Eh, mother? No more the little boy to coddle. To henpeck."

She bristled and turned, mouth open to deny. But his finger against her lips silenced her. "I'd say it was time to retire, mother. To...relinquish all that bothersome responsibility." The fingers pressed harder at her lip, pulled it down until she shrugged away. "Give me that control."

"Draco." Just a whisper.

He stood abruptly. Took a deep breath. His hands settled on her shoulders, stroked her black velvet frock. Smoothed the material down to bare more creamy skin. She tensed. He leaned to murmur in her ear. "I think...I like the idea of controlling you a bit."

"Son, please," she whimpered.

"In fact." He pushed away from her chair. "I'd like to get started tonight, mother." He headed to the dining room's open archway, giving her no time to respond. "I'm off to bed. I've taken father's old chambers. Nice view. I'd like you to prepare yourself for bed, and join me. And let's not wear anything complicated. In fact, if you can stand the chill...come naked."

He heard her spin from her chair. Heard the brash scrape of the furniture on the floor. "Draco! You can't be serious!"

He turned sharply on his heel, regarded the shocked and reeling witch from a shadowed alcove. "I assure you I'm most serious, Narcissa. Ten minutes. No wand. Don't make me come and find you." He turned to go again, then paused. "Or do. Could be fun." He left her clinging to her chair.

He felt quite generous, really. Set his wand to hum at twelve minutes. Seemed fair given this would be her first night adjusting to her new master. He cast his cuff links to the vanity. Tossed his tie. He whistled as he crossed to the lavatory, shedding clothes all the way. He brushed his teeth thoughtfully.

How long had it been since he'd had Pansy tied up in the Room of Requirement? Seemed so long now... How infinitely easier and more convenient this would be. A woman - and a real woman, at that - under his command at any given moment. No bribes or payments required. Absolutely brilliant. And there was that other tiny matter... He spat harshly into the porcelain sink and splashed his face. Should be about time.

His wand was humming away on the bedside table. His hand on the hilt calmed it and at the same moment - a timid knock on the door. "Enter," he called calmly. The door clicked open. Draco stroked his burgeoning erection through his trousers. Let her wait for a moment.

The door clicked shut. He turned and looked at her.

She pressed her back to the door, head turned away from him. She wore a gauzy cotton nightgown, pale grey. It was perhaps a rather drab thing, but her curves were luxurious shadows through its translucent drape. Her hair, long and thick now, hung over one shoulder, obscuring a breast from view. She was a splendid creature.

"Come here, mother." He spoke softly, as if to a frightened deer. But she did approach obediently - a tiny tremor in her step. Barefoot, with no heels to armor her, she was remarkably petite. Draco smiled a genuine smile down at her. Stroked her soft hair. "You are so fucking pretty, Narcissa." Her name caused a hitch in her breath. He took hold of both shoulders again. "So fragile and small and perfect." He tipped her chin up until she nervously met his eyes. "I am going to enjoy breaking you."

Her hands pressed to his chest. They were cool and clammy. "Draco." There was a plea in her moist eyes.

"Shhh." He slid a hand into her hair, gently tugged her head back. Kissed her. Her lips were unyielding. Her body seized up. He yanked. when she yelped, he smothered the exclamation with his lips.

This time she whimpered, but otherwise let him have his way. He swept her mouth with his tongue, tasted her cinnamon toothpaste. He sucked at her tongue, loved the shudder that rocked her body. He noted he hardened nipples in his ribs and smiled as he pulled back. "Better," he said. "When I want a kiss, I expect you to give it freely. Understood?"

She nodded. Her eyes were glazed, shocked. Perhaps she was still in denial of her new position? He decided to reinforce his claim, brushed a firm hand across her breast, flicking the pebble there before cupping the sensitive flesh. Again she turned her head. "Draco!"

"Look at me," he insisted. She did, tears threatening her visage. He grew impossibly hard. Ached to fuck her. "I think it's safe to drop any pretense of introductions. Perhaps I've been wrong to think I could...gentle you into this." He stepped away, dropped his trousers. "Take that silly gown off and get on the bed."

Her voice threatened to break. "Draco -"

He was quicker than an adder's strike; whirling her against the bed by her arms, tearing the thin gown with ease, shoving her into the thick down mattress. "You think this is a game?" He spat, crawling over her. "How fucking wrong you are." He grabbed her wrists - folded protectively across her chest - and wrenched them above her head. "Shall I restrain you?"

Panic in her face. "No! Please!"

"Then I suggest you learn to enjoy this." He caressed her thigh, cupped her knee and raised the leg. It felt sweet rubbing his hip and he closed his eyes. "I could make it...so much worse." He caressed her breasts with his face, rubbed and suckled, cautiously released her wrists and stroked down her arm.

He urged her other leg to bend. Took in her shut eyes and bitten lip as his fingers slipped up the inside of her thigh. She mewled and lurched when he slid his fingers into the cleft of her cunt. "Awfully wet for a witch who doesn't want it." She was clenched tight, but he thrust two fingers roughly past her resistance, relishing her sharp cry. "Relax, Narcissa!" He bit a nipple. "I mean, hell... Tight's great for me, but I don't want to hurt you."

She spared him a glare. Her eyes were seething anger. He had the audacity to laugh. "There you are," he said. "I was wondering if I would get to enjoy the fight in you. Perhaps we'll have time for more fun later. But for now..."

He adjusted his erection, prepared to take her.

But she pressed a bony elbow to his neck. "Think about this, son," she hissed. "Think hard."

"I assure you, mother." He shoved her restraining arm to her side and pushed his torso upward. She winced at the pressure. "I thinking very hard right now." And he impaled her mercilessly.

Odd, that they should each react so similarly to the intrusion... Narcissa curled her face into her son's neck, refusing to let him see pain, submission, humiliation or especially the burning shame of pleasure. She buried her teeth in the juncture of his neck and shoulder to muffle an embarrassing moan.

Draco pressed his face into his mother's neck, groaning his weakness, his solace, desire and addiction. The power he'd imbibed quickly evaporated, revealed itself for the deviant lackey it was. The revelation that they were both slaves to something greater was both a blessing and a curse and the man moved in the hot confines of his mother's hellish heat.

With little encouragement she gave up the begging whimpers he longed to hear. They rattled in her throat with his every punishing plunge. He watched her unravel and understood godhood. How convenient that she was his now. How perfect. His plan had borne fruit without his tending.

And she was folding gloriously, giving herself to his hand just as she had to his father all those years ago. She was a proper pureblood witch. Knew her place well. He resolved to enjoy her immensely.

So when her urgent voice reached his ear minutes later, he clamped her mouth closed. "Draco, don't -"

"Too late, witch." He growled through gnashed teeth. "Oh, you feel so fucking good. Mother?"

Her wide eyes tempted him closer to the precipice. "Mm?" Snot hit the edge of his hand as she panted.

"Can you still bear children?"

The wide eyes flew to panic. Still muzzled, she nodded as best she could, attempted muffled speech, her whole being begging him to not do what he suggested he would do.

But his whole hand spread instead, blocking her nostrils and making her thrash violently. Her free hand clawed at his back, slapped and pounded impotently.

Draco watched her struggle. A drop of sweat slid from his nose and into her eye. He wondered if she noticed the sting as he unloaded hot seed inside her.

Spent and finally sapped of the strength adrenaline embues, Draco collapsed. Narcissa was slick with sweat and Merlin knew what else. She easily squeaked from his spidery embrace, gasping for breath and retching over the edge of the bed.

"Oh, spare me the melodrama." Draco drawled. He flopped into the plush pillows and spread his arms wide. "And you can come back to bed once you've cleaned up. I've got at least another two rounds in me."

She perched on the corner. He watched warily as her hand touched the bedside table. His wand rolled toward the feminine fingers, but she didn't take it. "You didn't think," she murmured. "Even when I told you. When you asked! Draco, you can't...we can't..." She finally looked at him. "Until I'm back on the potion, you can't -"

"There'll be no potion."

She blinked at him. Silver moonlight deepened the tiny creases by her eyes. "What?"

"I can't be the last Malfoy, mother. It simply won't do. Someone has to be in that goblin's office like I was today. An heir. You gave my father one."

She was shaking her head, greening slightly. "No... No. You're insane."

"It's perfect!" He sat up and reached for her. She jerked her arm away from his fingers. "Look at us. We're ruined anyway. The Malfoy name will get me nowhere. And now why should it? I've everything I need right here. Money, a home for every season, a loving and dutiful mother...and now a convenient and captive incubator."

A tear slid down her cheek. She seemed frozen. "You aren't serious."

"Quite serious." His eyes darkened. He leaned over the bed and slid his wand past her hand. Played with it. "Although I suppose I could always alter the details of your contract. Just to be clear."

She gathered the torn, useless gown around her abused body and made for the open lavatory door. She stopped on the way, turned and cast a dark look at her son. "You're the devil," she muttered hoarsely.

Draco chuckled, balancing his wand playfully across his nose. "Not I, mother. Not I..."

But Draco knew the devil. Intimately. Knew the devil's usefulness - the innate Slytherin-ness of him. Knew where to find the devil when a deal was needed - lurking not within the man, but within the many daunting, tiny details.

**AN: **A late Yule gift for Narcissa Nerea, who wanted something a little darker and rougher. It should probably be disturbing to me that I find it difficult to write Draco and Narcissa this way... But, it isn't. Guess I've got a devil in my details, too. Listen to the musical details on my profile. ?gfvhlt4yy91zet8


	2. Fine Print

Fine Print

_Every man loves to fuck a beaten woman. No matter how noble, kind or chivalrous he may profess to be, I assure you he loves the taste of cowed cunt. Like sharks to blood, they are drawn to a surrendered female. It is one of their greatest weaknesses._

_My son is no exception. Daft boy. He seems to forget there's a brain in the body he makes his sowing grounds._

_Will he learn? That there may have been no clause in my marriage contract to protect me. But often the fine print is unwritten - a sinister addendum dwelling within._

_Draco made me his concubine. His hand maid. He seeks sickly to plant within me his Malfoy heir. And I've no choice but to allow it. But... Well, Slytherins make poor victims. And if the boy has a use for my womb, then I have a use for his seed._

_I have the means to craft his destruction with his absolute sanction._

"Narcissa. Come to bed."

She sighed at her reflection in her vanity's looking glass. "Yes, son." _Son. I will always remind you..._ With an air of formality and worn routine, she approached their bed. Allowed her dressing gown to form a careless pool upon the Persian rug. Naked. How he preferred her.

And he waited - a grinning lecher. Already erect. Already pawing. Already pulling her into octopus arms. "Should be a good night," he murmured. He squeezed her swollen, tender breasts and took in her grimace. He'd learned her every intimacy, her every secret. Knew her menstrual cycle as if it was his own.

"Yes, son."_ Always._ She reached above her head past piled pillows and took hold of the head board's thick cherry spindles. He could have her body, but she'd be damned if he ever saw her pleasure.

Only it was there. Much though she despised it, it was there.

_Making me as sick as he. And on this night, like a beast in heat with a womb hungry for seed, the pleasure..._

His finger dipped before his mouth, pushed into the bloated tissue. She grunted. It was the barometer, the forecaster of success measuring her temperature. "Merlin, you're hot tonight. Definitely good."

She hissed when his tongue parted her clinging cleft, made the first stroke of the evening. He chuckled and hatred fueled a flood for his greedy throat. Sometimes, he made her come this way. Teased and demanded her surrender with a skilled, killing, gloating mouth. After the inevitable orgasm, he fucked her through the wet-cheeked shame, laughing as he licked her tears.

Forever, it seemed... He had the stamina of any man-boy, and once her body was lax and pliant, he arranged her a multitude of ways and pounded her like an alchemist studying a smelt; what made her squeal, bubble, pop or harden to a solid. And if she was too loose for his tastes, he spat in her arse and fucked her there.

It was an insult added to an already intolerable injury. He wasn't producing another wizard. He was simply reducing a mother witch.

And Narcissa would bite her pillow and think of revenge.

But it would not be that way this night, she knew. This night she was ovulating and ripe for fertilization. He would not let her come under tongue or finger. It was _necessary_ for her to come round his cock. To milk every precious drop. He would accept no less than the toe-cramping, body-quaking shudders only he had ever produced in her. (Though he would _certainly_ never know that. She would _die_ before he knew that.)

Sure enough, once she was wet and tight and gasping despite herself, he took her. He knew angles like an arithmancer, tilted her hips in harsh hands and fucked her with a tender purpose. He watched her face as she fought against the pleasure in the shallow, paring thrusts. He spoke with his rhythm, a song of war. "That's it. Good girl. Come now. Let go. Cissa. Cissa. Cissa. _Narcissa_."

And her body keened so strongly tonight, wanted so wildly that she answered him on the first overpowering rush. "My son!"

He rode out the waves, bore the tremors of her body and then raised her legs, crossed them onto one shoulder. He stroked her as she relaxed. Kissed her ankle. "Very good," he cooed. "Rest now." He patted her belly affectionately.

Narcissa swallowed bile. Caught her breath and released her numbing grip on the headboard. He would hold her like this for a time, letting his seed settle. "Draco."

"Hm."

"If it doesn't work this time-"

"Stop it."

She bit her lip. He refused to speak of their recent failure. The blood in the bathwater. The one that got away. "I'm just concerned, son." Her voice was gentling.

"It will work this time." His eyes were dark determination. "You shall simply have to take it easier. No more gardening. Especially with the weather turning cold. And I shall acquire another elf. No cleaning. Or cooking of any sort." He rubbed her hips and thighs. "Besides. You're losing weight. And we can't have that."

Her lips tightened, but she nodded. Argument would only serve to sour the cream of her own cool contrivance. "Draco?" She stared past his shoulder, over her own toes into the dimness.

"Hm?"

"What if it's a girl?"

Again he tensed. "It won't be."

Still gentle, hesitant, like one hedging toward news of death, she whispered. "But if it _is_."

She frustrated him. He sighed and dropped her legs, moved roughly away. "I need an heir, witch. A boy. Can't you fucking do _that_ much?" He snapped. Dropped off of the bed and stalked toward the en suite.

Narcissa sat up and stretched. Watched the shadow of his flaccid cock knock against his thighs. "I'm afraid I won't be able to carry another," she admitted loud enough for him to hear, but soft enough to carry a hint of shame. Over the echoing ring of his urination, she continued. "That I will...disappoint you. Again."

There was a silence. She plucked at the duvet, waiting for his reaction. Waiting to learn her next strategy. Water ran in the sink. Splashing. Then the patting of his feet on tile, then hardwood, then softening on the rug. She didn't look up when he sat near her on the bed.

His hand hesitated before settling on her calf - a comforting touch. Her stomach churned at it. "If it's a girl..." He shook his head as if the very idea was ridiculous. "Fuck, I don't know. What do you want? To be shut of it? Fine. Plenty of wizarding homes would take it."

Now she did look up. Called on every muscle of her face to portray horror and let the heat in her sinus breed tears. "Draco!"

"Then what?" He demanded. "Surely you wouldn't keep it! You don't want it in the first place!"

"I do!" She gasped. Slapped her own mouth closed behind her hand as if the revelation was a terrible accident and he lunged for the blood as predictably as any hungry shark would.

Her wide eyes watched him grin. "You do?" A soft chuckle and he kissed her raised knee. "Yes, you do, don't you?"

The silken tears left silken trails down her face and she remembered reading somewhere that muggles gave awards for acting. "Of course not."

He touched her chin, tilted her to face him. "Tell me the truth."

She crumbled like chalk carelessly cracked. Rubbed clumsily at her snotty nose. "I can't give it up. Please don't make me, Draco!" Now she reached for his hand, kissed it. She scrambled toward him in the moonlight. "I was never a mother to you. Never really. I wasn't allowed. If I had been..." She shook her head as if dismissing errant fantasy. "But that doesn't matter now. Oh, Draco _please_ let me love it! Let me have it!" And now she lunged, threw herself at the shark and hugged it to her, sobbed and earned a hundred muggle awards.

She felt his satisfaction. Felt it swell in his chest and radiate through the arms that held her. Felt it tingle in the fingertips that feathered her back. "Of course you can keep the bloody thing. If that's what you want." The spoilage was a high price for him to pay, she knew. But he paid it just the same. Bought his slave's willingness for the pittance of a few words.

"Oh!" She gripped him harder. Let the snot and mess muck his shoulder. "You promise?" She sniffed into the crook of his neck. _Pitiful. Beautiful._

He stroked her hair. "Very well. Ridiculous woman. I promise." He pried her arms from him and took in her hopeful, weeping face. "Hormones," he muttered wryly.

She tried a breathy laugh. Looked down embarrassed and collected herself. "I'm sorry."

"It's alright." He took a deep breath. Stared at her feet curling into the duvet. "And you won't...disappoint me. That's nonsense. If it is...a girl... We shall simply try again. Keep trying. And if you still can't..." He swallowed and rubbed the back of his neck. "Then I suppose some arrangements could be made to -"

"Draco." Suddenly, her voice was strong and clear. Its usual deep mellow tone. He looked at her and it was her turn to stroke his face. "Perhaps...if I can't have your heir..." She paused, considering. "Well, perhaps... She could."

He didn't understand. _Of course._ "She?"

Narcissa allowed the small hopeful smile to grow. Only a centimeter or so. "Our daughter."

Silver turned to steel. He blinked at her slowly, then quickly. Finally realized. "Are you suggesting -"

But Cissa's fingers silenced his lips. "It could be perfect!" She hissed. "She would never even have to know you were her father! She could be...a bloody foundling! It doesn't matter! Don't you see?"

He did see. He was nodding, watching her as though she weren't real. "Mother, I'm not certain -"

"Blood of our blood, Draco. Malfoy blood!" His uncertainty didn't interest the plotting witch leaking his seed. "She could be everything that I'm not. Young. Strong. Built for motherhood." She spoke quickly, aware her hold was tenuous. "_Made_ for you, Draco. Better than me."

"Never better than you!" He spoke vehemently. "Don't you say that!" He rubbed at his face, considering her heavy words, her heady proposition.

"I would teach her," Narcissa added. "How to mother. How to please you." _How to kill you._ "I would make her exactly what you require." She reclined in the darkness around the pillows, letting her words settle in his ears as his hopes settled in her womb. He was quiet and very still. "Only _if_ it is a girl, of course."

His face finally turned to her, eyes seeking her sincerity but finding only shadow. A long moment passed. Then.

"Only if it's a girl," he whispered. He left the bed. Grabbed his dressing gown from the wardrobe near the door and paused. "Clean yourself up," he instructed. "We should try again tonight."

She sat up. _He can't be serious._ "Draco...please, son...perhaps tomorrow? I'm very tired!"

He shrugged, cinched the satin swiftly around his waist. "I didn't say I needed you conscious. But clean is nice." He left the room. Narcissa heard his feet slap down the corridor then disappear.

_Fucking bastard._ She hated him. But she had her victory for the evening, so let him have his.

She smiled and folded her hands protectively across her belly. She offered up her first prayers - first promises - to the goddess above.

* * *

_"Mother!" A giggle. "Mother!"_

_Narcissa smiled and swept down the corridor, her red cotton skirt scraping a rough patch of wood. "Where are you, you imp?" She swung around a marble column just in time to see a swath of yellow silk suss into the drawing room. Quietly, muffling her own laughter behind a hand, she followed. Pounced into the drawing room, and -_

_It was empty. Cissa's smile fell. Almost petulantly, she sighed. Where had the bloody girl gotten off to? She gathered her skirts and turned to leave._

_"RAHHH!" A blur of yellow, black and white and peals of unhinged laughter._

_Cissa screamed a genuine scream and clung to the shaking shoulders of her attacker. "Elektra!" She shook the girl affectionately. "You scared the life out of me!"_

_Hands cupped her face, the fingers small as hers, nearly duplicates in fact of Narcissa's. "Oh, mother! I'm sorry."_

_"No, you're not." Cissa pressed a hand over her hammering heart. But she couldn't contain a smile at the glimmering silver-blue eyes that flashed such mirth. "And you've torn your frock!"_

_Elektra laughed still. Pink lips parted on a devilish grin. She ran her tongue over her top teeth in a gesture so reminiscent... She lifted the torn black sash hanging from her waist. "I'll use the mending charm you taught me. Don't fret!" The girl pulled Narcissa into a hug, swaying with her. "I love you so, mother."_

_Tears stung the older witch's eyes. She tugged playfully at her daughter's thick silken curls - some black, some flax. "I love you, too my darling." Even their heartbeats kept the same pace, slowing from their chase._

_Elektra drew away first, eyes wide and locked level with her mother's. So similar they were. "Mother..." A thumb brushed Narcissa's lower lip, made her blush._

_"Elektra." They kissed, lips barely brushing. The sweetest suction. Tongues mischievous._

_Only the slamming of a door above them pushed them apart. They both looked up guiltily, cheeks matching shades of pink. Narcissa's brow furrowed - the only time wrinkles marred her face. Elektra scowled. "Draco," she said._

_"Yes." Narcissa stepped away. "He'll be seeking us out for lunch."_

_The girl's lip curled further, but then a most frightening, troubling smile replaced the gesture. She took hold of Narcissa's hands, twined their fingers. Raised the digits to her lips. "Soon, mother," she murmured. Bit an index finger to hear the resulting gasp, then licked to hear the resulting moan. "Soon...I shall free us both."_

_"Mother? Elektra?" The call echoed down the hallway._

_The girl-imp faded to young lady. The young lady drew her wand, repaired her dress with a brisk whisper and drew her thick fall of hair over one shoulder. In the doorway, she turned to a frozen Narcissa. Practically staring into a mirror. "Coming, mother?"_

_Some strange sensation. Narcissa tried to ignore it. She was expected, after all. "Yes, yes. In a moment." She watched the girl leave, then closed her eyes a moment. When she opened them..._

Darkness. And the unsettling feeling of waking from a dream too real. Narcissa pushed up onto her elbows, recalling every vivid image. She winced at the soreness between her legs, then swung over the edge of the bed. Crossed the room naked.

"Lux." In the lav, she lit the sconces and closed the door. Over the sink was a potion bottle. She retrieved it and sat on the toilet. Humiliating, treating the chafed and tender tissue.

But worth it this evening? She recalled the dream the goddess had sent, the words of the girl. "Elektra," she whispered, trying the name. It was odd. Beautiful, but not at all soft. Strong. Familiar.

_"Soon...I shall free us both."_

Before the mirror on the opposite wall, Narcissa stood and turned. She cupped her hands over the pooch of her belly, imagined it swollen with child again. It felt warm to the touch, and she knew magic was inside it, forming.

She let genuine tears slide free. She'd not felt happiness in so long. "Elektra," she whispered again. The mother's mind made up. She already loved the tiny entity inside her - her savior, her witch warrior, her babe, her student and someday-sin. "Elektra."

Her freeing, fighting, unfettered fine print...

**AN: **Well, this story is undergoing some major changes. Namely it is now a chaptered piece but with only one more to go. Short and sweet, I say. Well... Maybe not so sweet. This chapter an early Valentine for the Nerea. She asked for it... And thanks to my chained-up-in-the-e-basement Britpicker SilverTonguedSlytherin for the very quick on-demand read through. Spit-spot, old chap. If you've got flames, that's all fine - but you might want to hold onto them until the end of this one...

**AN2: **Those of you familiar with neo Freudian psychology will need no introduction to my Elektra (here a disambiguation of Electra), but if you're curious, the Electra complex is a fascinating piece of theory. _And_ she's a damn fine play by Sophocles.


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